


The Prisoner Bride

by StarkWolf



Series: JB Week 2020 | Sinned and Redeemed [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Diet Angst, F/M, GOT Season 4 Canon Divergence, Idiots with zero communication skills to Lovers with Zero Communication Skills, Marriage of Convenience, Medium smut, More Like Inconvenience, Not Too much Cause I am Shitty at it, Oral Sex, Pining Premium, Plot has been glossed over like a Shining Mirror at an Overpriced Restaurant, Smut, Tywin Lannister is a Bigger Ass than Cersei Don't @ Me, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, no beta we die like men, pining so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkWolf/pseuds/StarkWolf
Summary: Prelude: Cersei finds out about Jaime sending Brienne off to find Sansa Stark and ambushes them with the Crown's forces. Jaime pleads with her and Tywin to spare Brienne's life, both of them blackmail him on the condition that he will marry her and leave the Kingsguard. Jaime agrees. Brienne is forced to agree.Excerpt: Cersei walks up to her and says “Welcome to the family, Lady Brienne” . She can see the wondrous, beautiful smile lighting up her face, the naked flash of sadistic pleasure illuminating her green eyes, the sheen in her dewy, flawless skin and all she can remember is Pod’s bloody face, bruises blackening under his eyes.Brienne has to reel herself in from running a sword through her.Only she doesn’t have a sword anymore. Tywin Lannister made sure of that.She turns her back to Cersei, and walks away, vision cloudy.She has to take a moment as she leaves the room, make herself remember to breathe, when she hears Jaime’s desolated voice in a long, long time.“Why, Cersei?” he asks.“Charity” she says and Brienne walks away, unable to bear it any longer.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: JB Week 2020 | Sinned and Redeemed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061042
Comments: 42
Kudos: 251





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was conceived at a time when I overestimated myself to the extent that I thought that I could come up with a new fic everyday for JB Week 2020.  
> Tragic, I know.  
> I haven't been able to get anything done really, since then, until last week when I sat down with the shell of this and it turned out to be a 10k+ fic which I forced myself to turn out. It is not my best and I am not very happy with it, but just for the sake of putting any content out there, and in the hope that I would be able to go back to my remaining assignments and WIPs, I am posting this up, because why not.
> 
> As mentioned earlier this was supposed to be a part of JB Week 2020, which is long past, but every week is JB Week so yeah.  
> This one is dedicated to the wholesome, wonderful JB Fandom, your work has been getting me through this roughest of rough phases, and though I have needed the time to distance myself, lurking around while copiously consuming all the work, I will get back to appreciate in kind with comments as soon as I can, I promise. Sorry, but I will pay my dues.
> 
> About this work, this might feel OOC, inconsistent, with a lot of mistakes, a lot of things have been actively glossed over, I might do a Jaime POV of the same that addresses the issues, but it will take some time. I am sorry if it disappoints you. This has been churned out in a tough time, so I don't think this will be great, but I do hope some of you manage to find it palatable. 
> 
> The fic is written. The ink is dry.
> 
> Before this becomes another one-sided conversation with my therapist about my insecurities, let's go! :D

_No._

She doesn’t say it as Tywin Lannister threatens a series of dire consequences should she fail to oblige to his condition, ones that start from razing Evenfall Hall to the ground and escalate to sending her mutilated body to her father and _then_ killing him.

The worst part is, he doesn’t even look especially enraged, only a bit wary.

“Yes. I will marry your son.”

“Good” is all he says before he leaves.

She stands still, rooted to her spot, nails biting into her palms.

Jaime is somewhere behind her, drawing ragged breaths.

Her eyes sting with tears and her body shakes with humiliation.

Cersei walks up to her and says “Welcome to the family, Lady Brienne”. She can see the wondrous, beautiful smile lighting up her face, the naked flash of sadistic pleasure illuminating her green eyes, the sheen in her dewy, flawless skin, and all she can remember is Pod’s bloody face, bruises blackening under his eyes.

Brienne has to reel herself in from running a sword through her.

Only she doesn’t have a sword anymore. Tywin Lannister made sure of that.

She turns her back to Cersei, and walks away, vision cloudy.

She has to take a moment as she leaves the room, make herself remember to breathe, when she hears Jaime’s desolated voice in a long, long time.

“Why, Cersei?” he asks.

“ _Charity_ ” she says and Brienne walks away, unable to bear it any longer.

….

Jaime demands to see her once before the wedding.

It is inconsequential when he had already pleaded for her life in exchange for her freedom, her duty, her oaths, his oaths, his duty, his white cloak and of course, _Cersei_.

So she doesn’t see him.

When they stand in front of the Seven Gods and say their vows, he doesn’t see her either, looks fixated at a spot to her right, doesn’t meet her eyes.

….

Her marriage bed is cold and lacks a husband.

She’s glad of it at least.

She would have killed Jaime if it was otherwise.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

….

She remembers Lady Catelyn.

Remembers her warmth, her kindness, remembers her monumental trust in her sworn sword, her belief that Brienne would do everything she could to bring her estranged daughters back to their Mother.

She wonders what she would think of her now, a failure, Tywin Lannister’s prisoner daughter in law, and in love with her own husband by law, an enemy by faith.

She remembers Jaime then.

Remembers him looking resplendent and breathtakingly beautiful in the hateful red and gold doublet as he stood in front of the Seven in the Sept, still as a statue, only the angry tick of his jaw betraying him as a human.

She had thought the Gods cruel. She hasn’t met Tywin Lannister before.

No punishment was never as befitting for the likes of her being stuck with the one she was so hopelessly in love with.

……

They haven’t spent so long apart since their fateful, cold acquaintance in the filthy cells of Riverrun as they do as man and wife.

“What did it cost you to spare my maidenhead?” she asks him as they stumble upon one another an evening only by gross miscalculation on both their parts.

Jaime attempts at staring her down and seethes.

“I am not a rapist. I wouldn’t force myself on you.” He spits out through his teeth.

“You couldn’t even if you tried. But what did it take to not even try?”

He keeps staring at her till he doesn’t, looks away, gulps away the pain in his voice which still manages to make a distinct appearance when he speaks.

“Only my brother’s life.”

Brienne learns then that she too hates debts unpaid.

So when Oberyn Martell doesn’t show up the morning of Tyrion Lannister’s trial, she volunteers to be his champion.

Except she didn’t have any sword to fight with.

Tywin Lannister, enraged and erupting in silent fury at his insolent good daughter dared anyone to lend her a sword with his cold gaze around the arena as the Mountain makes his way towards her.

When Oathkeeper is tossed into the pit from the gallery, she doesn’t look at her husband in gratitude, afraid it will break her in ways the Mountain cannot dream of.

In the end, she doesn’t die. She comes close, but damn the Gods she doesn’t die.

…..

She stays abed and unconscious for little more than a week, having suffered multiple grave injuries from the fight.

If Jaime keeps vigil at her bedside without food, without sleep, she doesn’t see it.

When she opens her eyes, there’s another Lannister perched at her bedside.

“Well, that’s a relief. Good to see you awake “ a dwarf with mismatched eyes tells her as he moves, takes her hand, and kisses it roughly.

“Welcome back, literally, my only _good_ _sister_ ” he says and it is so absurd that Brienne’s lips stretch upwards despite herself.

….

Another set of threats for Tywin Lannister comes to the fore if she dares to touch a sword again.

But when she comes to her room, sufficiently chastised, her only passion stripped away from her in disgrace, she finds Oathkeeper hanging by the bedpost on her walls.

“ _It’s not enough. Looking at it is not enough._ ” She spits at Jaime who is not in sight, per usual.

She wonders what it is like to hate someone so much and yearn for them with such fevered urgency, and how long it will take to break her spirit completely.

….

She spends her time with the Tyrells.

Tyrion latches on to her at other moments, insistent, worming his way into her life.

They all make fine company for the prisoner bride because Cersei hates all of them enough to put aside her desire to malign Brienne.

…

One night as she lies abed wondering how much of Lady Catelyn would be there in Lady Sansa, there is a knock that draws her out from the stupor of her misery.

“ _It’s me_ ” Jaime says to the connecting door that separates her bedroom from his.

When she opens it there is no one there, only a fresh set of clothes on the chaise – breeches and a shirt- his clothes (because there are only dresses in her wardrobe now as permitted by her goodfather) and a note in dubious hand that says-

“Bronn is outside. Carry Oathkeeper. He will accompany you to a secluded training spot.”

Brienne doesn’t know whether to curse her husband or kiss him.

She beats the sellsword black and blue instead.

…..

A week since this arrangement continues, the knock, the clothes, the note, Brienne makes a point to seek Jaime out.

Her body aches, there are wounds that sting on her ankles, two of her fingers are swollen, her palm has gone rougher and she has never felt better since the day Cersei Lannister learnt that she had fled the capital in search of Sansa Stark and attacked them with the crown’s forces.

“Thank You” she finds him in their solar. ( Theirs, his/hers where they lie together on different beds, separated by a door ) .

He looks at her for a moment

“Thank _you,_ always a pleasure seeing Bronn roughed up bad.”

His lips twitch upwards and she is blinded by his radiance for a single, spectacular heartbeat.

She gulps her longing away and suddenly feels naked, feels daring.

“Did Cersei learn of me and Pod from you when the forces ambushed us?” she blurts out before she runs out of her courage.

“What?” his smile vanishes entirely and gives way to incredulity.

“Did you accidentally… spill it to her… how did she _know_?” she presses on.

Jaime stays deafeningly quiet for a moment.

“Lady Brienne, is that what you actually think of me? “

“I am.. not saying it was intentional.. of course you wouldn’t…It could…It could have been blurted out in a moment of weakness…” Brienne says, suddenly defensive and fumbling at the sheer, feral rage ablaze in his eyes.

He takes a step forward towards her, then another and another till they are toe to toe and nose to nose.

“Where do you think this moment happened, _wife_?” his voice is dangerously low, a true menace, a shiver goes down Brienne’s spine that ignites entirely untimely shameful thoughts in her

“In _bed_? You think I would rant you out to my treacherous snake of a sister, stake everything, my white cloak, my vows, _your life_ , in exchange for a few licks of Cersei’s sweet cunt don’t you?” he purrs into her ears, breath ghosting her skin, goosebumps arising in her flesh, a sudden pang of unsolicited jealousy biting furiously at her insides at the image of Jaime and Cersei…

It takes her all she has to shove him away from herself at that.

“I thought you hated me because I chose your life over your stubborn sense of honor and your freedom. I never thought you hate me because you thought I was the reason that the choice had to be made. Might as well have called me Kingslayer again, Wench. ” He spits at her bitterly.

Brienne is a trembling mess when she leaves the solar.

Later that night though, there is the knock, there are the clothes and there is the note.

….

To think she has fancied another beautiful man with kind eyes and a beaming smile a lifetime back, cried over him, and never known what unrequited means till now.

Brienne wonders if Valyrian steel cuts as sharp through flesh as being in love with a husband who will never feel the same.

….

Oberyn Martell accosts her on her way to the Tyrells.

“You have taken wounds on my account, My Lady” he says in his thick, Dornish accent.

Brienne doesn’t understand.

“The Mountain, he was my kill”

An image flashes in front of her eyes. A sister raped and killed. Two infants wrapped in a bloody cloak in front of the throne. Robert Baratheon’s booming laughter. Tywin Lannister’s cold, calculating gaze.

_Horrible stories to grow up to._

“You were not there, the morning of the trial” she forces herself to say.

“Ah. Yes. There was an inconvenience. My wine was poisoned. Not fatally of course, but just enough to ensure my absence.”

Brienne looks on aghast.

“By whom?” she stutters out.

“Your family, My Lady” he replies casually and smiles.

A slap across the face would have been less harsh.

“They are _not_ my family” she grits out.

Oberyn Martell gives her an appraising once over at that, mirth shining in his eyes.

“Tell me, did he suffer? The Mountain?”

“He died.” She replies, uneasy.

“Yes. And _you_ killed him. You truly are a remarkable woman Lady Lannister. It would be an honor if we get to spar for once. “

Brienne’s stoic façade falls away at that and she is sure how tempted she is to take up on the offer shows plainly on her face.

 _“The Dornish are legendary warriors”_ her father used to say.

“I…I can’t. I don’t fight anymore.” she replies.

He narrows his eyes again at her, studying her, and takes her hand as if to kiss it as decorum, but only turns it around and traces the recent calluses on it.

“ _Strange_ ” he says, brows furrowed deep as he looks at it and continues to map it chastely, “ _And such a shame_ ”

When he meets her gaze over her hand, it shifts to his right, and he drops it.

“Ah, Lord Lannister” Oberyn suddenly flashes a flourishing, exhibitionist courtesy.

“Prince Martell” , Jaime’s voice cuts through the thin air as she feels his presence behind her.

“I am afraid I will have to leave you both alone, my Ellaria is waiting for me, but My Lady, don’t hesitate to come to me if you change your mind on my proposal” he says in abruptly lewd manner, winks at her, smiles slyly at Jaime and strides past them.

Brienne was certainly flushing red in wake of this awkward encounter.

“You would do well to be away from him. He hates Lannisters.” Jaime tells her, his voice curt and closed.

“He won’t hurt me.” She says definitively, suddenly sure of it.

“And you are stubbornly single minded about it because you _have to oppose_ _everything_ that I say instead of seeing some sense.”

“No. Because I am _not_ a Lannister. And he hates the same people _as I do_. If you will excuse me now, My Lord, Lady Olenna has been expecting me.” She says and walks away.

……

Cersei Lannister’s betrothal to Loras Tyrell is announced with all the pomp and flair befitting a dowager queen. Cersei’s eyes remain cold and glassy. Loras Tyrell, the lover of the man she once loved and currently deemed to be the luckiest man in the seven kingdoms, looks dispassionate and unamused.

Jaime’s eyes are unsmiling as well, and when she surreptitiously passes a glance at him while he doesn’t notice, she can see the muted rage and despair storming through his face when Tywin Lannister admonishes King Tommen for an inappropriate display of weakness as he clutches his Mother’s hand tightly at the announcement and Cersei tries to blink back her tears.

At times, she can’t help feel sorry for them really, the star crossed lovers, a legendary knight and a great beauty, doomed to be born out of the same womb. Brienne isn’t delusional enough to believe that despite Jaime’s many, many grievances against his sister, (one of them also about her being the orchestrator of their woeful marriage), there would ever be a time when he would not want Cersei. And suddenly it is Brienne who has to blink back her tears at the pang of longing that shoots through her chest.

So when Oberyn Martell asks her for a dance, she agrees to make a fool of herself, ready to accept the barrage of already present cruel comments on her appearance intensifying in order to escape Jaime’s radiant presence of her side and his false laughter at Tyrion’s bawdy remarks ringing off empty from the silverware placed in front of him.

In the end it doesn’t last long, but when she comes back Jaime is gone and Tyrion is looking at her with those assessing eyes that makes her sort of uncomfortable.

“For a woman who is so inept at the game, you are unwittingly proving to be quite a player, My Lady” he says and it is just one of those times when she feels Tyrion just makes evasive and twisted comments she cannot quite comprehend in a bid to constantly make himself feel clever, so she ignores it.

But she does drink some wine with him at his insistence, and then feigns sickness to escape to her bed, already exhausted from being out of place at a public gathering and desperate to take her mind off from wondering where Jaime was wallowing alone in the wake of his horrid heartbreak at seeing the love of his life engaged.

It is indeed a surprise when she finds him lounging at the chaise in their chamber.

“ The Dornish sexual appetite is _apparently_ voracious and limitless, as they would themselves say. Was it anti climactic? Did he spill like a greenboy in his breeches after a glance of those teats peeking out of that dress?”

It takes Brienne more than a moment to register the depravity of Jaime’s casual jibe.

She was back in the room with Oathkeeper in her hand, ready to lunge at him when it did.

“Pick up your sword, Ser. I will fight for my honor. ” she says, trembling with fury.

Jaime remained unmoving, a cruel smile lighting up his face at the sight of her.

“A dance for _me too_? My Lady is nothing if not generous. Tell me Wench, would you fight me in a dress?” he laughs at her, amused and condescending and hurtful in a way only Jaime could be.

Tears sting her eyes, and all her pent up rage, and frustration and the promise of a fight, any fight, mindlessly slashing her sword consumes her so whole that she starts hacking through her blue evening gown, flowy and bold, and certainly not made for someone the likes of her. The fabric falls away like butter under Valyrian steel and she drops her sword with a clang to rip it off herself in a rush of uncontained fury, her lungs burning, so angry at herself for letting Jaime get under her skin in this way and his underhanded cruel remarks at her looks and the damn dress and she is a shaking heap of wrath and sorrow when she feels Jaime’s cold palm on her arms.

“Brienne…” he says, gentle and soft, like he hasn’t been cuttingly accusing her of cuckolding him a few moments back, mocking and absurd.

She jerks his hand away as if burnt by it and crashes to the floor, afraid she would do something, anything rash lest she lets herself look at him.

Later, she would think of that as a mistake.

Because Jaime comes down on the floor himself, takes her into his arms and breathes his apology repeatedly in a faltering, wavering voice into her hair, and she tries to shake out of it, his embrace, the heat of his body, the feel of it against her almost naked self, but in the end she gives in and weeps, weeps, weeps her helplessness into the crook of his neck, clutching on to it desperately as a dying man clutches on to the hope of life.

He lets in a barrage of false promises in her ears, of him getting her out of there, of finding the Stark girls, of her being an anointed knight.

Fairy tales and platitudes that one uses to pacify a kid throwing a tantrum.

But for the moment, it is _enough._

It remains a mystery who moves first, whether it is Jaime’s wandering hand at her back, or the touch of the metal one at her hip, or whether it is how she moves her nose across the hollow of his throat but suddenly Brienne is in presence of something larger than she could handle.

So when she moves away from Jaime’s embrace, suddenly too aware of her naked self, he cups the side of her face with his single hand, fingers caressing over the dried tracks of tears, and then tracing them over her lips, watching it entranced, as if they are moving of their own accord.

She sighs . She didn’t know she has been so wretchedly touch starved.

_Parched, dry, barren, bereft of Jaime._

His gaze darkens, his fingers find their way below her lips, her chin, the nape of her neck, her throat, _down, down, down, slow, slow, slow_ towards her heaving chest. His grip tightens at her waist, the cold metal pierces through her skin and she shivers and trembles, on the edge of a strange moment.

Jaime’s reverie breaks at once as he blanches and removes his hand with a jerk.

“I..It’s..I am sorry” he mumbles, looking down at his golden hand remorsefully.

Brienne tries to keep her composure. Tries to not spill the tears. Tries to stay calm. Looks at his golden hand as well. Summons the courage of the Gods and starts removing it.

Jaime’s arm twitches uncomfortably in her grip.

_Just this. Just once. And I will never touch you again._

She doesn’t look at him. Unfastens the buckles of the false hand and lets it slide to the floor. Angry, red scar tissues stare at her, crimson welts spread across the amputated stump.

For a moment she is so hurt at the sight of it, the fact that it has still not healed properly, the carelessness of the whole thing, she forgets about the moment that just passed.

Jaime desperately tries to move out of her grip, she doesn’t release her hold.

“Jaime…” the words are out of her mouth before she can help it “Seven hells, what is wrong with you? How can you wear that abomination when this is not healed yet?” she moves up to look up at him.

He stares at her, speechless, incredulous.

She doesn’t wait for him to come up with a possible answer, she wants to furiously split at the Lannister gold hand lying there, instead she walks off and procures the healing ointment that she has carried with her since Tarth, a clean rag dipped in the water from the wash basin, and a couple of fresh poultices. By the time, she comes back Jaime has managed to stand up. She moves around consciously avoiding him, places the things on his desk by the chaise, and then pointedly beckons him there with an eyebrow. He moves obediently, sits, and she busies herself in the task of cleaning his stump and applying the ointment on it, diligent, desperately trying to avoid thoughts about whatever transpired earlier, trying to avoid thoughts of herself, big and lumbering and ugly in her small clothes around Jaime even though her heart thuds in her chest, but this she can do, clinical, sincere, like polishing a sword.

“ _Bloody, maddening Wench_ ” Jaime mutters hoarsely as his breath hitches in what she is sure is sharp pain, so she decides to ignore him, focusing on the task at hand. Hence, she doesn’t see Jaime’s other hand coming up to her hair, as he removes the rough fringes from clouding her vision and gently, softly, tucks them behind her ears.

She stills. Her heart threatens to burst out of her chest.

Jaime doesn’t stop.

So she resumes patching his stump up, like she is made of stones and Jaime is not trailing a path of fire on her scalp.

For all her feigned normalcy, her body betrays her entirely. Her breath gets caught in her throat, her guts feel warm and squishy, and she struggles against herself to maintain composure and not lean into his touch.

Jaime keeps running his hand through her hair, gentle, sweet, tender and tormenting.

She moves back from his touch abruptly once she had bandaged his stump. Jaime's hand freezes mid-air and then he drops it.

"I should go," she says, standing up, without meeting his eyes.

"Brienne" he lets out a breath and scrambles to his feet.

"Goodnight Ser Jaime" she finally looks at him, eager to leave this, whatever it is, whatever just happened between them as behind as she can, desperate to rush to her bed and fall back into her conflicting thoughts and wretched miseries.

Jaime snaps his jaw shut. His face tightens. He jerks his head sharply and turns his back on her, breathing heavily.

Later that night, when she hears footsteps several times coming up to her door, she thinks her mind is playing tricks on her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime’s weight upon her in a delicious assault, and as he springs this information on her, she cannot stand him anymore, furious at him for leaving her ally-less in a stinking castle with Tywin and Cersei and her own sea of conflicted, unresolved feelings and the deep coiling of arousal unraveling in her guts at having him so close, astride her, she clamps her own thighs to his sides in a sudden movement with all the strength she has, and flips them over in a tactic she has mastered, the mud sullies Jaime’s pristine coat of arms and splatters ungraceful at her face as she looms over him and snatches the knife out of his grip.
> 
> Jaime looks at her, incredulous, eyes shining luminous and dark at this sudden, unforeseen attack.
> 
> “Fuck” he says hoarsely and she feels his hardness, clear as the sun, instantly, at the inside of her thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap!  
> What does it mean Brienne?

Even though she dismisses the whole part, aggravating and strangely heart consuming that it was with Jaime, she understands it was nothing more than a distracted misstep insinuated by a feeling of grief and helplessness at losing the love of his life.

Brienne harbours no illusion. No grandeur thoughts of romance or possibility sways her mind.

This much peace she can afford herself.

This, and avoiding Jaime like a plague.

She changes her entire routine. Wakes up at the early hours of the dawn and trains by herself in a dress, steals back into the castle only after he has left to see his duties for the day. Spends her evenings with the Tyrells, or Tyrion for a week goes straight to her training at late night, comes back late, tip toes around him to her room before he can look up.

A week passes by till he accosts her at her evening training.

"No cunty sell sword today, you have to make do with a cripple" he says and raises his sword and attacks her before she could form a stance.

She beats him still. Beats him seven times in a row. The best he lasts is five minutes. Brienne supposes she could be less hard with him, but Jaime's accosting her, facing him after everything is grating on her nerves. So she just keeps beating him to the dust without a word hoping he would give up on whatever he has hoped to accomplish and leaves.

But he doesn't, only stands up again, and again, and again.

By their tenth face-off, Brienne hasn't broken a sweat, and Jaime has done all he could to keep himself on his feet. This gives way for the conceited walk off after she knocks the sword off his hand again. Jaime comes up behind her and kicks her legs so she trips and unceremoniously lands on the ground with a thud, Oathkeeper slips out of her grip as Jaime is astride her in a second, a pocket knife bared at her throat.

"Can't believe I have to hold my wife at a knifepoint to get her speaking to me, but when has it ever been conventional between the pair of us!" He seethes.

"Get off me, Ser"

"Shut up. And listen to me. I am being sent to Rosby to handle a mutiny of the small folk. They have the castle surrounded. Apparently this is all the Lion of the Rock is worth now. Stay alive while I am gone, feign sickness if Cersei or Tywin wants to have an audience. I will leave Bronn entirely at your disposal. "

Brienne's stomach drops at the news which is a surprising revelation given she has done all she could to make sure he is as out of her sight as possible.

"How long?" She asks.

“I don’t know. Not supposed to be more than a week, but angry, mutinous peasants and a worthless castellan is a dangerous combination for a siege. “ Jaime shrugs.

Jaime’s weight upon her in a delicious assault, and as he springs this information on her, she cannot stand him anymore, furious at him for leaving her ally-less in a stinking castle with Tywin and Cersei and her own sea of conflicted, unresolved feelings and the deep coiling of arousal unraveling in her guts at having him so close, astride her, she clamps her own thighs to his sides in a sudden movement with all the strength she has, and flips them over in a tactic she has mastered, the mud sullies Jaime’s pristine coat of arms and splatters ungraceful at her face as she looms over him and snatches the knife out of his grip.

Jaime looks at her, incredulous, eyes shining luminous and dark at this sudden, unforeseen attack.

“ _Fuck_ ” he says hoarsely and she feels his hardness, clear as the sun, instantly, at the inside of her thighs.

“ _Fuck_ ” she thinks as Jaime pulls her down, and crashes his mouth on her.

For a second, her vision is white, and the feel of Jaime’s tongue against her mouth is a rock in the depth of the looming waters of Tarth.

She opens her mouth against his, and she is entirely lost in revelation. She gathers she has no experience in this, and whatever lapse of judgment has led Jaime to this point, she doesn’t care now, only cares for the feel of his tongue inside her mouth, his teeth nibbling on her lips, only that it tastes like salvation and relief and ecstasy, only that she can mimic him to satiate this strange volcano that is erupting inside her, only that she wants more, more, more of Jaime.

No matter how many bouts Jaime lost to her, this is a battle she is clearly not winning.

It takes clear sounds of incoming footsteps to separate them, and by then they are breathing heavily, chests moving up and down in rapid succession.

And suddenly, Brienne, still in shock, gasping, blushing red from it, makes a break for the solar through the castle, leaving Jaime panting in the cold ground.

She cannot form coherent thoughts in her head, except, Jaime kissed her, Jaime, willingly, kissed her.

Her vision is unclear as she runs across the hallways, servants stare at her, maids stare slack jawed and pass conspiratorial looks towards each other, she stumbles across one or two people, she doesn’t care till she reaches their chamber and almost runs across the space to go into her room and attempt at closing the door which is pushed back hard as Jaime barges in, sweaty and sticky and ragged and muddy and entirely too beautiful and golden to be true.

 _Fire and blood_ she thinks when she looks into his eyes as he breathes heavily.

Fire and blood consume her.

“You have really got to explain” he chews each word, gritting his teeth, “that what your Lord Husband was doing chasing after you, filthy and half hard across the expanse of the Red Keep like a dog in heat. We will be fodder for rather salacious gossip on the morrow.”

She certainly doesn’t know how to revert to that as a blush heats up her already aflame skin completely, and she cannot certainly think clearly at this point, the answer to what Jaime was asking, but apparently, her traitor of a body does, so she closes the distance between them, pulls him closer by his jerkin and kisses him hard.

Jaime moans a weird sound into her mouth that strikes straight to her core as his arms snake around her and he pushes her flush against himself, kissing her back fervently, with a strange urgency.

It is Brienne who has to finally let go and take a deep breath. But Jaime is relentless as he unties her clothes with a deftness that she is yet to see him accomplish with one hand in any other task and kisses the column of her neck as she gasps. 

The golden hand is the first thing she insistently takes off of him. And then she doesn't know what or how but one after another items of clothing fly away as Brienne, desperate to feel his heated skin against her, within her reach, becomes a complete slave to her baser desires. 

It's a battle of hands, and lips and tongues but soon Jaime trails down his sloppy, wicked mouth across her body, palms her meager breasts through her small clothes and flicks a finger on her nipple, and she arches her head back with a jerk, making sounds like she has never imagined could come out of her mouth.

Apparently it only serves to spur Jaime on, as he makes a similar sound and pushes her breast bindings down and takes the other nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue relentlessly upon it till Brienne is only a puddle of nerves, repeatedly uttering his name in a daze. 

It doesn't help that he never really stops talking, keeps murmuring filthy, dirty things that get her pulse racing into a crazy pace. 

When he finally releases her nipple, a gush of cold air tickling the devoured breast only intensifies the inexplicable need coursing through her insides. 

_More, she needs more,_ she thinks as Jaime gasps against her. 

"I should have both my hands for this" he breathes against her skin, coaxing her to look into his eyes with insistent nudging, "And I should fucking take you to a featherbed." 

Desire clouds all her rational thoughts and Jaime gently pushes her back into the bed and starts trailing kisses across her body. His hand snakes into her small clothes, inside the place that is already ablaze with a needy, keening hunger for a while as he drags one finger through her fold, caressingly. 

"Fuck." He says again, "You are soaking wet and warmer than I fucking imagined. " and yanks the small clothes from her, and kisses her mouth sloppy and wet as his fingers stroke through her damp folds and finding the hard nub, igniting Brienne from inside, lighting a want that makes her shudder against him. 

She cries out as Jaime flicks, and circles and rubs against her clit, and then slowly, simultaneously, deliberately pushes one finger inside of her while this thumb concentrates on the nub of nerves. The stretch of it feels so incredible, Brienne has to stop tearing her own tongue by biting it off and screaming the wits out of her. Jaime pushes and pulls his finger, then inserts two inside her and pump them faster and faster and she cannot take it anymore, she stands on the precipice, on the edge of something huge and monumental and then he again closes his mouth on her nipple and stars burst in front of her eyes, all her senses culminating to a stupor of overwhelming brightness, she trembles and twitches for eternity till she is able to see sense again, to see Jaime, watching him watching her, as he licks off her juices from his fingers with a quick flick of his tongue.

It is too much and not enough at once. So she pulls him closer, and opens her mouth against his, desperate, begging for more of him, as much as he can give her. 

_Please. Jaime. Please. Please. I want you now._

She tries to say but she doesn’t know whether Jaime can make out the muffled, elusive words coming out of her mouth against his.

_Please. Jaime. I want you inside me. I want you. I..._

She closes her eyes. 

The words are incoherent mumblings of a mad woman. She hears a shushing sound of fabric which can only be Jaime's breeches, and then fills a hardness against her entrance. Her breath catches on her throat. 

" _Brienne_ " he says. It is all she can do to stop herself from coming undone. A deep, heavy feeling making her chest hurt. 

" _Brienne_ " he insists, " _Look at me_ " 

So she does. If there was ever a time she could have refused Jaime anything ever, now was certainly not it. 

His single hand comes to her face as he looms above her, eyes dark and intense, jaw ticking, he looks like the Warrior come to life in her dreams, as she lies beneath him waiting for her absolution. He gently pushes her askew hair aside, wipes a dry splotch of mud from her face, soft and tender.

" _Please_ " she croaks out. 

And he pushes inside her, slow, deliberate into her aching, pulsating, wet core and her breath hitches in her chest, a fleeting, sharp sting of it, and then entire the fullness of him completely throws her off guard as he buries himself to the hilt and she is forced to close her eyes again to deal with the myriad sensations flowing into her at once. 

" _Please Brienne._ " He croaks out, his voice rough and low and broken, _" Don't take those eyes away again, I beg of you_. " 

She snaps open her eyes to watch him now, and he groans as she does it and moves inside her slowly, maddeningly, again and again.

They are both moaning and whimpering now. 

" _Fuck_ " he says "Fuck _. Fuck. Fuck. I have never... This is...You are..._ " 

His sentences are lost in oblivion, as is she.

Brienne wraps her legs around him on Instinct, wanting him closer, wanting more. 

" _Fuck._ " The words fall out of his tongues as half cooked syllables and Brienne, unable to keep any semblance of calmness seeks more friction and moves her hips to a faster rhythm. 

" _Gods help me_ " Jaime yelps and starts driving into her faster, faster and faster as Brienne's muscles clench around him in their own volition and he falls to his arms around her kissing her desperately, clumsily as he picks up even more pace, and more yet, and her fingers dig into his back, and she is again on the precipice and then Jaime puts his thumb between them and roars his release into her, hot white liquid flooding her insides, and Brienne loses to sensations completely for a second time. 

Jaime falls to her shoulder at that, breathing as heavy as she is, and buries his head at the crook of her neck. 

Brienne is a puzzling mess of aches and senses for a while, and as the fog of cloudy desire slowly lifts from her body, the enormity of the act makes her heart stop and she untangles her legs in a flash. 

Jaime peers up at her, still heaving, presses a kiss to her brow and her lips, sweet, chaste and completely in contrast with the heavy intimacy of what just happened and rolls off her. 

She closes her thighs, closes her eyes, Jaime's seed still hot and spilling from her.

But it's not till she gets up to wash herself and use the chamber pot and returns to the sight of the bed, , the bedsheet rumpled, muddied and sullen with Jaime Lannister spread naked on it, knocks the breath out of her chest. 

Jaime takes notice and half sits up and follows her gaze. 

"Maid of Tarth no more, come to bed, _now_. " He says and promptly collapses on his back, exhausted. 

_How can._

_What does._

_Why._

She fights to keep the struggle off her mind for the night as her body gives up, and she climbs to the bed and pulls the cover with _Maid of Tarth no more_ playing at her ears, again and again and again. 

She closes her eyes to Tywin Lannister’s cold smile and Lady Catelyn’s wrecked, crumpled face of disappointment, and a girl of ten and four with auburn hair drowning in the sea of Tarth. Then she feels pair of strong arms are thrown across her, pulling her close, and she falls into a deep slumber under the weight of it, and there is only gold in her vision.

……

She opens her eyes to find Jaime gone from her bed.

She sits up in panic, heart beating loudly in her chest as she rushes to the basin to wash her face, and don the sullen Lannister arms of coat on her bedside, fast, vibrating with urgency.

If Tywin Lannister accosts her, she would very well leave the “unsuitable” clothes she is wearing aside and walk naked if need be.

Her feet rushes off in its own accord, out of her room, out in the Keep, down in the courtyard, every step a testament to the soreness Jaime left in his wake.

She is furious at herself, furious, angry, miserable, relieved, feather light, flying all at once.

She spots Jaime packing his horse in the stables amidst a bustle of activities and preparations and strides across to him.

He doesn’t notice her at first, only turns back on instinct.

And then, he bloody _smiles, all teeth, golden and disarming._

Brienne should really learn to curse more.

“I thought you could do with some rest, never deemed you to be such a dutiful wife coming to see off your dashing...”

“I need Moon Tea” she cuts him off, angry, scowling, ugly and impatient with whatever this is he is trying to convey.

“Yes I thought you would. Already spoken to Bronn about it” he doesn’t miss a beat, “It won’t be a good sight if you yourself ask about for it in the Keep trying to kill the hope of a Lannister heir apparently the future of the realm depends on”

“ _Ser_ ” she grits her teeth, her nails dig into her palms. She wants to do something seeing Jaime in front of her, all that casual smugness oozing out of him, as if he hasn’t changed her entire life in a night. She wants to bash him with a sword, she wants…she wants…

Jaime stands there, staring at her with those awful, beautiful, impossible green eyes.

“You know…” he says, ”I have had a certain expertise in reading expressions beyond what shows on the face, the Seven Gods know that is so out of your aptitude, but turns out in the meanwhile I have forgotten how to read a transparent face, it’s disturbing really…”

“ _Shut up_ ” she manages to say, glaring daggers at him, he only chuckles back and her blood boils.

“By the way, good news which I have already given Bronn to convey to you, you can wear whatever you deem fit, carry your sword and train whenever you like. You only have yourself to thank for it though, if the entire Red Keep hasn’t heard you screaming my name yesterday, Father would have never been convinced.” , he flashes her teeth at her again and she blushes to the tip of her toes.

_How infuriating can one man be!_

“There’s still Cersei to contend with, but a deal has been made with the mighty Tywin Lannister” he pauses suddenly, jaw flexing, fumbles through his saddle bag, and comes up with the pocket knife which has been a key weapon in initiating the events of last night.

“A favour, for a brave knight” he says and holds it out to her.

“A.. A favour? It’s.. It’s you who are riding to battle.”

“Do me some courtesy and don’t call it a battle. And you are fighting a much bigger war here.”

“Then why are you leav…” she stops, halts herself from saying something stupid.

Jaime keeps looking at her face, one of his fellow men come to beckon him, Jaime’s expression changes in a fraction of a second as he makes him go away with a murderous look and an aggressive jerk of his head.

_A mummer. You should be a mummer._

“If I die, “ Jaime turns back to her and Brienne feels a sword has been punched through her gut at the words.

“Possibilities are unlikely but never _that_ unlikely for a one handed cripple of an honorless knight, if I die, lie to my Father about being with child and insist on sailing for Casterly Rock immediately with Tyrion, he will have to bribe the Maester for the examination, but it will make do, Tyrion will” he gulps, “Help you in the rest of the plan”

“ _I will not lie about a child_ ” she says indignant, she can punch him on his face right now and never regret it at his ludicrous suggestions and stupid mentions of death.

“Then Bronn will have to knock you out. I am a thorough man.”

“Jaime…”

“I have to go now. Can you put the knife away for Seven’s sake? ”

When she does and looks back at him, he smiles again, leans in, places a swift kiss on her lips, springs away and mounts his horse.

“Goodbye, My Lady” he says over his shoulder, the smile playing on his face as he spurs his horse on and rides back, leaving Brienne frozen still in the courtyard amongst horses and men, trying to grasp the meaning of it all.

…..


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is a constant revelation past that moment. 
> 
> It's a dream and a nightmare all at once. 
> 
> She harps uncomfortably on falling into Jaime's arms with such ease, she would die rather than regret it but then she thinks how she is abandoning her vows to Lady Catelyn, and meanwhile giving Tywin Lannister exactly what he wanted out of this marriage, an eager, dutiful wife, if only unconventional, grateful to have her husband deem her worthy enough to touch her while two maids whose safety she were charged with, trusted with, roam around the wilderness of Westeros, unsafe, unprotected, tragedy or worse waiting in the shadows to spring up on them. 
> 
> She tastes bile on the back of her throat, nails digging into her palms. The thoughts choke on her suddenly at the worst of moments and she finds it difficult and more difficult to make peace with herself.
> 
> Then, like a witch's magic trick, the thoughts disappear into oblivion when Jaime touches her, when her body and mind completely gives up on sanity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get, well, difficult.

Brienne convinces herself Jaime must have been really perturbed with the happenings in the capital to actually take the likes of her to bed. It is strange, but the Red Keep can do things to people's minds, or perhaps, with Cersei's wedding drawing closer, he sought to seek momentary pleasure in her arms, entirely misguided, directionless, lost in grief. 

The kiss in the courtyard was strange. 

People's reaction even stranger. 

" Good to see you finally put the poor sod out of his misery" Tyrion says over his wine goblet, never looking up, but a sly smile plays at his lips. 

"I didn't really think when the blustering golden fool barged in demanding an audience in the morning wanting to talk about _the importance of your safety_ , but oh! dear girl, one look at your face under the morning sun, it's as clear to even my old eyes, yes. " Olenna Tyrell says. 

"Grandmother!" Margaery exclaims in mock horror. But then winks at her in a manner that makes Brienne entirely uncomfortable. 

"So, My Love" Margaery later entwines her arms with her, away from her grandmother, "Let me help you with some stuff from the next time" with a salacious, suggestive tone and Brienne wants to laugh at her face for presuming there would be another time, and cry in despair for it. 

Bronn does laugh at her face when she keeps taking undue pauses at the training later that night. 

.....

Cersei calls on her to join her for tea the next day. 

When Brienne refuses on the account of a sudden terrible fever and headache, she deems it upon herself to pay her a visit with her entourage of guards. 

She looks ethereal, as always. 

"Sick?" She says, as she places a tray of ripened, scarce summer fruits by her bedside

"My brother must be terribly neglectful of you and your health. I apologise on his behalf, he can be difficult..." She puts her head down in acute sympathy, a brilliant mockery that cuts right through her skin.

"No, Your Grace" Brienne mumbles unintelligibly, claustrophobic, desperate for her to leave. 

"No?" Cersei asks. Then she comes to make space for herself beside her bedside and smiles a beaming smile at her. 

"There is no shame in admitting that some marriages are destined to be awful and passionless" , there is something in her eyes at that, a wave of maliciousness and remembrance, all at once, "I have also been married to a man who has been in love with another for decades" she says conspiratorially, bowing down to reach her and straightens up in a blink, elegant, queenly. 

"Rest, Goodsister" she commands and leaves with a swish of her heavy skirts. 

It is then, she feels, truly sick. 

She is in better form that night and bashes the sell sword left, right and centre, even though she cannot keep Cersei's words from her mind. 

What hurts more than the truth? 

…….

She is wandering aimlessly in the gardens, suddenly wanting and not wanting to be alone the next day.

_Three days, she counts._

A maid comes to her. 

"My Lady Lannister" she says and Brienne winces at the title.

"The Lord Lannister rode ahead from Rosby, he asked me to inform you that he is back"

" _Some marriages are destined to passionless_ " rings in her ears. 

She finds Jaime in the solar, his squire, Peck, helping him with his armour. 

She halts in the doorway, taking him in. 

_Some marriages are destined to be awful and passionless._

She remembers him on that glorious night, his mouth on her nipples, her name on his lips as he made his way inside her with an insistence that tore her heart apart. 

Jaime meets her eyes and stills too.

"Leave" she tells the squire as she gets closer, he fumbles out of the door, and Brienne starts unbuckling his armour, desperate, fingers shaking. 

"What is wrong?" He asks, she doesn't answer. Takes out his vambrace, the hooves, the greaves, the breastplate, moving deftly from piece to piece.

"Father?" He asks, voice quiet and serious. 

She strips the chainmail apart, till he is only standing in his jerkin and trousers.

"Cersei?" 

Brienne pulls apart the laces fast and faster. 

"Brienne" he holds her hand, motioning it to stop. 

"Look at me" he says, gently, and she snaps and pulls him to her, and kisses him hungrily, kisses her woes and conflicts and want to his mouth. 

Jaime growls, pulling her closer.

"I am filthy, My Lady, I need a bath" when they separate for a breath. 

_Passion._

She thinks. 

Memory is a strange thing, a visual keeps circling in her head, from Renly’s camp, a picture Margaery painted with her words…

So she unties his breeches and takes his… _cock_ , almost unduly hard, strokes it a couple of times with her manly, roughed hands and then kneels down and takes it into her mouth. 

" _Seven hells_ " Jaime hisses but makes no move to stop her. 

Which is a good thing, because it was taking every ounce of courage Brienne has ever had to do this impromptu act. 

She must be making a grand fool of herself, she thinks, as she runs her tongue across his thick shaft, and takes it in tentatively with her misshapen, ugly, thick lips. 

" _Fuck. Gentle. Please. Mercy_ " Jaime mumbles out. 

She doesn't really have any idea what she is doing in what madness, she doesn’t understand what he is asking for, but she knows Jaime doesn’t dislike it, at least. She softens her grip and goes slower. She doesn't know where to put her hands as her tongue and mouth carress and swallow Jaime's manhood in turn, purely on instinct, it tastes salty and grassy, and twitches in her mouth, and she doesn't know how to feel about it except she wants to do this, until she chances a glance up at his face, his eyes are half lidded, his head is thrown back in delirious pleasure, his chest panting. 

_If she is, if she can, her, Brienne, Big Brienne, Brienne the beauty can do that to Jaime..._

She feels herself getting wetter and wetter from watching him, as her mouth keeps moving.

She flicks her tongue experimentally at the tip, another experimental move, and Jaime lets out a keening sound that goes straight to her damp folds. 

She feels his cock straining inside her mouth, she looks up again, and Jaime is looking at her with a heated and hazy gaze that sends a shiver down her spine. 

" _Fuck, enough_ " he hisses. 

Brienne let's go instantly, trembling with uncertainity and in seconds she is being pulled to her feet by Jaime, her breeches being unlaced as Jaime plunders through her mouth, and in moments he is pushing inside her, hot and warm as his good hand finds her clit and circles it in a rhythm that has panting into his mouth. 

_Passion._ She thinks. I _want passion_ , as she pulls him closer to her. 

The moment is both too short and too long at once, but they come apart together, this much she remembers as her vision whitens. 

......

Life is a constant revelation past that moment. 

It's a dream and a nightmare all at once. 

She harps uncomfortably on falling into Jaime's arms with such ease, she would die rather than regret it but then she thinks how she is abandoning her vows to Lady Catelyn, and meanwhile giving Tywin Lannister exactly what he wanted out of this marriage, an eager, dutiful wife, if only unconventional, grateful to have her husband deem her worthy enough to touch her while two maids whose safety she were charged with, trusted with, roam around the wilderness of Westeros, unsafe, unprotected, tragedy or worse waiting in the shadows to spring up on them. 

She tastes bile on the back of her throat, nails digging into her palms. The thoughts choke on her suddenly at the worst of moments and she finds it difficult and more difficult to make peace with herself.

Then, like a witch's magic trick, the thoughts disappear into oblivion when Jaime touches her, when her body and mind completely gives up on sanity. 

She finds herself melting and mending in his arms, day after day, night after night. 

He finds her across the Keep while going about his duties, takes her to the nearest empty hallway and kisses her raw, interrupts her audience with Margaery to take her to the nearest alcove and puts his mouth on her desperately as if they haven't touched for days, on the horrid dinners with the Lannisters, he splays his palm on her, caressing her thighs under the table and it's all she can do to keep her senses about herself. 

She too gets greedy for more, for some relief, for Jaime. So she seeks him out as well, from his training, in the stables, from the court, steals him away from his life for moments she wants for herself, kissing and touching and wanton for her need of him, as if she doesn't fall into in his arms every single night as it is. 

Brienne has conciliated with herself that Jaime wants her, she doesn't know what mad spell has fallen on him, but even she cannot deny the rush of desire in his eyes every time they are entwined about each other. It is a given he will not ever feel about her the way she feels about him, but physically, with the body, at least , as absurd as it is, he wants her. And that is all she would ever get from him. 

So it is the tender moments that takes her by surprise as she can't seem to keep her wits or heart about herself at all. He takes her to a nearby pond to swim one day, gifts her a mare that seems identical to the one that was lost when she was attacked by the Crown’s forces, gets her armor repaired and restored to her as good as new, buys her shiny trinkets from the market she would never wear when he visits the city on duty, leaves her little notes when he has to leave earlier than necessary, waits for her patiently without having his own supper no matter how long her training with Bronn continues. 

When her moonblood arrives, he gently wraps his arms around her, as they lie fully clothed in her bed and kisses the top of her forehead and speaks of his childhood, of his early days of knighthood, of Cersei and of Tyrion and Brynden Tully and Arthur Dayne into her hair, and soothes her to sleep.

 _I don't want your kindness_ , she wants to rail against him, eyes brimming with tears.

_I want you to love me back as I love you._

Some wishes are never to come true, so she just wonders how long it will last. 

It doesn't take long to know. 

....

It happens one night as they lay in each other’s arms, sated.

She had thought Jaime’s worst crime was to push Bran Stark from the tower in Winterfell, crippling him for life, to save his skin, and that of the woman he loved, and the children he fathered.

“Get out” she barks at him, flinching away, when she learns of another.

“I didn’t know Father would…”

Brienne throws the cover, stands upright naked in the stark moonlight, the harsh winds of a coming winter whips her skin.

The moment is strangely reminiscent of another memory, what seems like a lifetime ago.

“You didn’t know” she grits her teeth, “and what exactly did you do after you knew? You stood by him for years and years, carrying out one despicable act after another in his name as he slaughtered children, got women raped, killed honorable people violating guest rights under the eyes of the Seven all to assuage his endless appetite for gratuitous violence, his horrendous legacy, for his mindless arrogance, just because you don’t have a spine and you don’t know how it is to survive through life without a powerful last name. And you have condoned every, single bit of it.”

_It’s unfair. She knows at the heart of her heart. He is only trying to become a better man, now, the man she loves._

Jaime blanches and recoils, and then an intense rage takes over his eyes, “To think, that your time in Kings Landing would have taught you that there is no one right way to live life, but you remain ever the oblivious pig headed Wench.”

“Does your brother, whom you claim to love, know what you did to him? Know what you are responsible for?” she spits back unable to stop now that the venom has gotten seeping from her, in no mood to take the bait of distracting offense directed at her.

She has learnt something in Kings Landing after all. Something, from the Lannisters.

Jaime gets up and leaves the room and slams the door on his way out.

Brienne shuts him out, definitive, tears streaming down her face as she prays for the girl, and wonders how satisfying it would be to slash a sword through Tywin Lannister’s chest.

…….

She doesn’t see Jaime for the next two days.

She doesn’t seek him out.

On the third night when the bells begin to toll ominously, he comes to their solar, haggard, drunk, eyes red.

“That vile monster did it. He killed Father. I should have never…” his voice catches in his throat.

Brienne stands up, faces him as her heart thuds through her chest, touches his face, draws him into her arms and lets him cry on the crook of her shoulder.

“ _I am sorry.”_ She says, in spite of herself, “ _I am so sorry._ ”

…..

There are no witnesses to the deed.

No proof.

Cersei goes on a rampage, accusing Brienne and Tyrion and Oberyn and the Tyrells and even Kevan Lannister for the deed, Margaery manipulates Tommen to lock her up in her room till she gets better.

The blame is conveniently shifted on the whore who took up with Tywin Lannister that night, found missing after the incident.

Jaime’s eyes remain hard and silent.

Tyrion meets her gaze over their Father’s body at the Sept and gives her a wry, knowing smile and she looks away.

….

They see each other less and less every possible day.

“You did well, to protect him.You… You made the right choice when it was a hard choice to make.” She says to Jaime at the funeral.

“I did it so there are no debts between us anymore. I am my Father’s son and a Lannister always pays his debts. Now we are strangers, the next time I can kill him without any regret or remorse.”

_Your father’s son killed your Father and you have a heart made for love, kindness, forgiveness and honor, you are nothing like Tywin Lannister._

She thinks but doesn’t say.

…..

The Game of Thrones, she had heard.

Now she sees.

Tywin Lannister’s death creates a strange power struggle, seen by none, yet felt by all.

Cersei fights tooth and nail not to relinquish her control over Tommen, her marriage with Loras broken on the wake of it.

The Tyrells hover around him like a flock of eagles over a rotten corpse.

Tyrion makes himself inconspicuously scarce, but every proposal Lord Varys puts forth in the Small Council meetings which she now attends as Lady Lannister ( on the insistence of the Tyrells, the Martells, Jaime himself ) reminds her of Tyrion uncannily.

Jaime is at the teetering edge, torn apart by family, duty, rage and grief.

She wonders if he holds her responsible for it in some measure, she wonders if that is why they scarcely see each other anymore even though they spend hours sitting side by side through meetings.

At night, sometimes she grieves the husband she never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if you feel I have made Brienne be unnecessarily harsh to Jaime, but it is just to show the fact that she is also going through a continuous conflict in this moment and is in a dark place. Umm. Sorry? But hey, a chapter of 2.5k words is left and it says angst with a happy ending so....


	4. Chapter 4

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into a full moon.

Chaos prevails in the Keep.

Tyrion asks for an audience one day, she has refrained from seeing him since…

“Sansa Stark in the Vale, with Littlefinger” he informs her as soon as she sets foot into his chambers and bars the door at his behest.

She stumbles backward.

“You are sure because?”

“I have my sources.” He says.

She turns to leave, the ground spinning beneath her feet and halts.

“Thank You, My Lord, you have been a true friend, even if I don’t know what to make of you.”

“How maudlin good sister, it doesn’t bode you well to be making friends with the patricidal imp.”

Renly and Stannis have made a steady appearance in her nightmares since the incident, revenge _is_ all-consuming, she thinks as she looks at Tyrion.

“If you must know, I don’t blame you for it, I cannot fathom patricide, I don’t know how to… how to not judge you… but I do believe you sow what you reap”

At that the dwarf turns to her, mismatched eyes shining.

“Tell my brother,” he says, gulps, and looks away.

“Tell my estranged brother he has chosen well, and I don’t mean _me_. ”

She leaves.

…..

“When are we arranging the annulment? I… I need to leave. There is no point in continuing this farce any longer.” She tells Jaime as she walks into their chamber, and sees him fussing over parchment and quills on the desk.

His eyes shoot up to her, incredulous, hurt as if she has doused him with cold water, as if she has punched him right across his face.

_As if this is tearing him apart, and not her._

“Littlefinger has Sansa. And I have a vow to fulfill.” She says.

His features harden like a statue as it had on their wedding day.

“Tell me, what do you want?” He asks in a low voice, it sounds like a threat, somehow, a simple question.

“I only want to be free of this, free of you”

_A simple truth. A blatant lie. Both at once._

She wants him to want her back, she wants him back in her arms. She wants to shatter this unbearable distance that has been created upon them.

What she wants is impossible for Jaime to give.

Jaime walks out of the solar, papers scattered over the desk.

…..

When he returns that night, he tells her she can leave on the morrow for the Vale.

“I can only spare you a part of the Lannister army for now. You have to command them. The journey will be cold. And the times are vulnerable. You better look out.”

Her jaw goes slack.

“I can do it alone. Sansa…”

“Cannot be rescued by one single warrior when you have the slimy Littlefinger and the entire contingency of the Knights of the Vale to contend with, even if it is you and your endless vanity regarding your skills and talent.” He cuts her off.

“The marriage… the annulment..”

“I will take care of it.” He says, curt and small, and turns away from her.

Her shoulders sag in relief as she closes the doors of her chambers behind her.

She is free. Free of this horrid marriage. Free of Lannisters, Red Keep, the bloody politics of it all, the court, the hurtful gossips, now she can leave, and finally fulfil her oaths. 

She knows then, she will have to rescue Sansa or die trying. And then rescue Arya, wherever she is. And then maybe, maybe one day she can go back to Tarth, to her Father if she is lucky enough to have him live to that day and tell him, tell him she had married once, just like he wanted, even if it was coerced, she had married a knight of the seven kingdoms, an honorable man, a man who was capable of change, capable of being a better than his circumstances warranted him, a man who had gone out of the way to protect his daughter like him and yet let him be herself, a man who has taken every disdain she had thrown at him, deserving and undeserving and strived actively to rise above them, a man who has taken her to bed, has desired her, even if it was for a little while, a man who had cloaked her, wedded her and bedded her and given her a sword and a quest and had protected her from everything he could. A man who made her happy, when she thought she could be anything but that.

A man she had loved and will love till the end of her days, and even if she will never see him again, she will always know it to be enough. 

It is that thought that makes her scramble up from the floor, open the door, and stride over to Jaime's room. 

He sits there on the chaise, looks dazed across fire, forlorn, doesn't notice her till she sits down on it. She takes his golden hand and starts removing it. She has patched it up once that fateful night, then a lot of times, the only habit of kindness that she has let herself afford him.

 _It is the last time_ , she tells herself, and her heart twists painfully inside. 

When he puts his hand into her hair this time, she doesn't stop, keeps patching it up, and when he brings her mouth to his, she gladly lets him, pulls him closer without a word, even though tears swarm her vision. 

When Jaime touches her that night, after what feels like a decade, it is nothing like the times they have done it. There is no feverish urgency, no heated mumblings, no hurried unlacing. That night Jaime kisses her slow, languid, touches her sweet and tender, and pushes into her in a leisurely, hazy rhythm for hours in the end, and doesn't speak a word, only keeps looking at her. She doesn't avert her eyes for once either, committing his golden face to her memory, each twitch of his muscle, each tick of his jaw, each time the moonlight catches his golden hair, each speck of shining emerald in his dark eyes.

 _This is how I will remember you_. 

They lie awake, entwined in each other's arms, silent as the night that passes them by, till the first light makes its way through the gauzy curtains and she hides her face into his chest and Jaime takes a deep, shuddering breath and tightens his arms around her. 

"I must go. See to your departure arrangements" he croaks out after a few heartbeats, voice heavy and guarded. 

"Yes, you must." She replies needlessly, doesn't let her feelings choke her voice, and moves away from him. 

When he finally leaves the solar, the weight of what remains unsaid between them, what she could never say to him, bogs her down in grief. 

_Let me truly be a free woman today_ , she thinks as she wipes her tears. 

When she finally leaves her chamber, in the armor Jaime had given her before she was a married woman, Oathkeeper tucked heavy and proud in her sword belt, she leaves the envelope addressed to Jaime and she feels lighter. 

"I will send the army back when I have Sansa safe" she tells him at the stable.

Jaime nods. 

"Restore Sansa Stark to Winterfell. I will see to the rest." He says.

"Goodbye, Ser Jaime."

"Farewell, My Lady" 

She doesn't turn back as she rides away from her prison, from the love of her life. 

....

_Ser Jaime,_

_I have never told you this, as miserable as I have been caught up in my own circumstances, but no amount of gratitude would ever be enough for what you have done for me or the kindness you have shown me in the past moons. Once, you had given me a knife as a favor, I implore you to take it back, it's not mine to give, but it is all I can give you as I hope only for your happiness and pray for your long life. A favour for the most gallant of knights. Spending so many days with you has only reaffirmed my faith that you are one of the most honorable people I have ever known, a man capable of infinite compassion and empathy, a good man to the very end. Thank you, for everything. I will never forget it. I couldn't even if I tried._

_Although you will never feel the same, and I have no grievances against you at all, truly, on that account, I would still, in these last words that I say to you at the risk of making a fool of myself and gifting you with some humor, Iwould have you know that regardless of the forced words said at the Sept that day, from long before that, my heart has only ever been yours, and will only ever remain yours till the end of my days._

_Yours,_

_Brienne._

......

It is past midnight when a rampant knock on the creaky doors wakes her up from her fitful sleep. 

Donning her armor would take time, and it would be rather impossible for a threat to make its way to her bypassing the Lannister men who are to stand guard for the night in the inn, but still she arms herself with Oathkeeper when she opens the door. 

" May I come in, My Lady?" Jaime says with a dazzling smile, even though his unkempt hair and shabby appearance is completely in contrast with it. 

Her heart stops entirely.

He doesn't wait for the response as he shoves himself in, closes the door, and starts unbuckling his armor.

"What...What are you doing?" She says when she finds her voice, still rooted to the spot. 

"Trying to get off my armor so that I can use the chamber pot and then finally fall into a bed after riding straight for a day and a half. It's a wonder the hooves of my horse are intact and the beast lives."

"You reached in one and a half days? We are four days away from the Red Keep" 

"Not my fault if you have become slow and used to featherbeds and a fireplace."

"Jaime"

"Wench"

"What are you doing here?"

"Joining my army. Fulfilling my vows. Going to Vale to rescue Sansa Stark."

"Why?"

"Swore an oath. Lost a hand. Met a Wench. It is a long and bloody tale, will put you to sleep." He yawns like a mummer to make a point, "Now come here and help a cripple with his bloody armor, I left my squire at the Red Keep."

So she goes to him. Unbuckles his armor piece by piece. Jaime falls silent suddenly. 

" _Jaime_ "

" _Brienne_ "

"Why are you... How..." 

"As eloquent as ever in life as in letters"

"Don't do this to me." She steps back, on the verge of breaking down.

"You stubborn, dimwit woman. Why do you think I am here?" He holds her face, wipes down her tears and kisses her. 

"We will find Sansa Stark. Together. We will restore Winterfell to her. Then I will knight you. Then we can get married, truly, in Tarth, or in a sept somewhere across damn Westeros. If my murderous brother and mad sister can still keep Tommen on the throne till then without killing each other, I can take you to Casterly Rock and before or after that you can take me to Tarth to meet your Father. If the Lannisters are ousted from the capital, then we will just have to wander away from place to place with naught but our swords. If you ever want, we might even have a babe or two. The first thing we will teach them is how to hunt bears. "

Something rumbles and crumbles inside her at that. 

She had thought she would never see him, never touch him, never have him again. So she kisses him.

" _Yours._ " He tells her into her mouth," _Yours_ " . 

"I lied" she confesses later. "I never wished to part from you. Never wished to be free of you. " 

Just before she falls asleep that night, ensconced in the warmth of his arms as he kisses her cheeks and tells her, "Foolish Wench, we have been bound together by an oath in front of a woman whose severity would put the Seven to shame, you will never be free of me." 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. No Beta, All Mistakes are Mine. I am sure there are lots. Do feel free to point them out to me, along with the criticisms, if it is convenient for you.  
> 2\. English is not my first Language


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